Bitter
by ChoCedric
Summary: When Peter Pettigrew was presumed dead in 1981, of course there was no body to bury, but a funeral was still held for him. But what the attendants didn't know was that the man in question was hiding in one of the pews, observing it in his rat form.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Before you read, I need to tell you that I do not condone any of the thoughts Peter has in this fic, or anything that he did. But I've always been told that to be a good writer, you have to put yourself in every character's mind, even the bad guys, so this is a good exercise for me to try to get into Peter's mindset. Feedback would really be appreciated, I'd like to know how I did!

Bitter

By: ChoCedric

This is so surreal, Peter thought as he hid, in rat form, in one of the pews of St. Matthew's Church and watched people walk in and sit down for his funeral. Who would have thought that I would be alive to see people say goodbye to me? Amazement was also a prominent emotion he could feel right now, for he'd really done it. He'd pulled the wool over everyone's eyes, and now everyone thought Sirius Black had murdered him in cold blood after viciously turning the Potters over to be killed by a Dark Lord that he'd sworn he hated with all his heart. Fickle, fickle, fickle, Peter thought smugly. People will believe whatever's put in their tiny minds.

As he looked around, he saw many of his relatives walk into the church. Many of them had dazed looks on their faces, as if they couldn't believe Peter was really dead. Aunts, uncles, and cousins were all there, looking very upset, and Peter couldn't help but think that they had no right to be. After all, they really hadn't known him at all; they'd just had an untrue image of him in their minds.

One person that Peter did feel a twinge of guilt about, however, was his mother. She'd never been the same after her husband, Peter's father, had died when Peter was very young. He was a Muggle and had died of a heart attack, and Peter could remember that for many days afterwards, Mrs. Pettigrew hadn't wanted to get out of bed in the morning. She'd finally managed to get through it, but she'd never been the same bright, vivacious woman. Now, looking at her, it was as if her whole world had shattered. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her face was smeared with tears. Oh, Mum, if only you understood the reasons why I did this, Peter thought to himself. But there's nothing I can do about it now.

When he took his eyes off her, he looked for more familiar faces, and saw the surviving Order members take their places in the pews. Among them was Remus Lupin, and his face was white. He looked shabbier than Peter had ever seen him before, and the misery was literally pouring off him. As if you ever cared, Peter thought viciously. You pretended to be my friend, but in the back of your mind you thought I was nothing but poor, pathetic, pitiable little Peter Pettigrew who would never amount to anything.

Yes, it was true. When Peter had first started at Hogwarts, he thought he'd found true friends in James, Sirius, and Remus. He for once felt accepted, like he truly belonged, and by people who were extremely popular no less. But as the years passed, he'd started to see that this was not an equal friendship in the least. Whenever one of the Marauders' famous pranks was pulled, he was always the lookout, the tagalong. And there had been times when he himself had been the butt of their jokes. They never pranked each other, but always pranked Peter, expecting him to take it in good stride. And by God, he'd pretended to, and the Marauders, who always claimed they were smart, had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. How pathetic.

"Good morning."

Peter was suddenly pulled out of his bitter thoughts by the voice of Albus Dumbledore, who was standing by Peter's coffin, which he hadn't noticed until now. Obviously, the coffin was empty, and Peter thought that it being there at all must have been his mother's doing. He'd heard that the finger, the only piece of him they'd found, had been given to her. The rest of him was obviously nowhere to be seen, since the man in question was still perfectly alive and well, but his mother was the kind of person that would need closure, and having a coffin there, even though it was empty, would convince her of the finality of her son's death.

"Good morning," Dumbledore said again, and Peter could see that the man looked old and saddened. "We are here to celebrate the life of Peter Marcus Pettigrew."

Peter felt anger consume him as he listened to the Headmaster drone on and on about how he had touched many lives, and about what a loyal friend he had been, to fight to the bitter, bitter end for people who had always shown him friendship. How wrong you are, you pathetic old man, he thought bitterly. The Marauders had ridiculed him, laughed at him, called him thick ... what was Dumbledore's definition of friendship?

After Dumbledore had finished, Mrs. Pettigrew, shaking, got up to speak. As she stood in front of all the attendants, she was trembling so badly she could hardly hold herself upright. Peter once again felt a twang of guilt. If only his mother knew what was really going on, if only he could go and apologize to her for causing her so much grief and pain, but the truth was, she hadn't really known him either. She talked about how good of a son Peter was, how he'd always been a quiet boy but his good heart had shone right through. She talked about his bravery; the fact that he'd gone up against someone dangerous just to prove himself once and for all was something she'd never thought he would do, and she proclaimed him a hero.

Mixed feelings blossomed in Peter at this. How many times had he dreamed that he'd be called a hero one day? How many times had he wished not to be the spare, the tagalong? He felt so pleased, so happy that he was finally being given the title he'd always wanted, but at the same time, it was too little, too late. Why was it only now, when he was thought to be dead, that such nice things were said about him? Didn't people think that he'd have appreciated it when he was alive?

When his mother sat down again, Remus Lupin got up to speak, and it was then that Peter felt a surge of true hatred fly through him. He felt his face twist into a bitter expression as Remus choked out, through tears that he was trying to hide, that he had always underestimated Peter. "I wish that he were here now so I could say it to him," he said miserably. "But wherever you are now, Pete, old friend, I'm so sorry for ever thinking that you weren't brave, that you weren't smart. You're a hero now, you finally got what you always wanted. Rest in peace."

Coward, Peter thought furiously. You didn't stand up for me when your two precious buddies picked on me, you didn't once tell me you thought I was smart. You can only say it now, at my funeral of all places. He desperately wanted to transform back to his human form, walk up to Remus, wrap his hands around his neck, and see the shocked look on the werewolf's face as he taunted, "Damn right, I'm smart!"

Next to speak was Emmeline Vance, a surviving Order member. Peter thought that this day couldn't get any worse as she spoke of what a charming young man Peter had always been, and how she wished she had gotten to know him better. Laughter bubbled up inside him, laughter which if he had been human, he wouldn't have been able to hold in. Emmeline Vance was nothing but a big fat liar.

What she failed to mention was that while they were in school, she and Peter had gone on a couple of dates. Peter had really liked her, and tried to treat her nicely, tried to be the perfect gentleman, but after all, he was nothing but slow, bumbling Peter, and he always said the wrong thing. Emmeline had finally gotten tired of him, proclaiming that "you're a nice boy, Peter, but I think it would be better if we were just friends." Peter had pretended to take it well, for after all, wasn't acting his best skill? But deep down, he would bet a million galleons that Emmeline had only given him the time of day because she'd wanted to get closer to James and Sirius. After all, didn't those two always draw the attention of all the girls?

During Emmeline's speech, Peter's mind wandered back to his other dating experiences at Hogwarts. He'd never had a steady girlfriend while all his friends had at one time. James, of course, had had Lily, and the two of them had been so nauseatingly happy together, getting married and having little Harry. Sirius had had many flings, it was true, but he had had a steady girlfriend at one point. She was the only girl out of the many he had dated that he'd really been in love with; he'd found a kindred spirit in her. She had died, however, in their sixth year, when the village of Hogsmeade was attacked. She was killed by none other than Bellatrix, Sirius's cousin, and ever since then, Sirius had fought tooth and nail to destroy every Death Eater in sight.

Even Remus, mild, reserved Remus, who didn't want to get too close to anyone because of his lycanthropy, had developed feelings for a girl named Julia, who had returned them in full force. But she had died back in 1980, killed by a werewolf, of all things. It had taken ages for the Marauders to convince Remus that it hadn't been him, for they'd been with him that night in their Animagus forms and nothing had happened. But Remus had gone into a deep depression after the episode, and he had almost gone as far as to take his own life. He'd withdrawn away from everyone, and not listened when his friends had tried to comfort and be there for him. Peter couldn't help but feel angry at this; after all they'd done for him, even becoming Animagi for him for Merlin's sake, Remus had made himself scarce and seemed not to care about the effort they were putting into making him happy.

Peter had, and still, felt nothing but bitter jealousy towards his friends. They'd all had someone who loved them unconditionally and who they'd loved in return, and even though Sirius and Remus had lost that love, at least they'd had it in the first place! Peter had never had that kind of experience, oh no! No girl would love him, no girl would want him, all they cared about were the fun-loving James and Sirius and the mysterious Remus. Forget Peter, he was nothing but the sidekick, the tagalong, the one who was meant to be pitied.

His thoughts brought him to the end of Emmeline's speech, and once she had sat down, Kingsley Shacklebolt, another surviving Order member, stood. "Ladies and gentlemen," he addressed everyone, "I know this hardly seems right, and I wish Mr. Pettigrew himself were here to see it, but I, on behalf of the Ministry, would like to honor him for his bravery. Mrs. Pettigrew, please come forward." When Peter's mother was standing by Kingsley, he went on, "I am extremely sorry for your loss, but for the incredible sacrifice your son made in the war, I'd like to present you with the Order of Merlin, First Class."

The woman burst into a fresh round of uncontrollable sobs, and Kingsley gently put the gold medal into her shaking hand. She held it close to her chest, and Peter would have bet a million galleons that she was wishing her son didn't have to die to receive this medal. He once again felt a pang of sorrow for the devastated woman. She was the only one he really felt any sympathy for in this entire room.

The service then ended, and he followed everyone outside to the place where his empty coffin would be buried. The hole was already dug, and everyone stood around as Dumbledore said some final words about Peter, wishing him a good journey to the afterlife and that he'd rest in peace. As the coffin was lowered into the ground, Mrs. Pettigrew let out an agonized scream of "No, not my baby!" and almost collapsed. It took her sister, Peter's aunt, to hold her up, all the while whispering soothing words to her as tears ran down her own cheeks.

Another of Peter's aunts cleared her throat and addressed the crowd. "You are now all invited back to the Pettigrew residence so we can celebrate Peter's life some more, and share fond memories of him," she announced. "There's also more food there than he'd know what to do with, but let's go and enjoy it in his name! I know that's what he would have wanted." There was some watery laughter from the crowd mixed with the sobs.

Peter knew it was a small thing, but he couldn't help but feel bitter at this proclamation as well. Jokes about his weight had been common not only among his relatives but among his so-called friends the Marauders as well, and even though they claimed it was only some good, old-fashioned ribbing, he wished it would stop. It wasn't his fault he was as overweight as his father had been, was it? It wasn't his fault he'd acquired that gene! And now, even when he was thought to be dead it still wouldn't stop!

Peter spent the next few minutes watching people walk away from his grave, which had now been filled and a headstone had been magically erected. His mother and his Aunt Susan were the last to depart, with the latter apparating the former away because she was too distraught to do it herself.

It was then that Peter looked at the words carved on the headstone.

Peter Marcus Pettigrew

Born May 19, 1960

Died November 1, 1981

Now we finally see the truth,

That a hero resided in you.

And as Peter Marcus Pettigrew scuttled away from his own gravestone, the only thought permeating his mind now was:

It's too little, too late.


End file.
